


Weans

by TheLittleDayDreamer



Series: Nora + Michael [6]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer
Summary: The Shelby’s and the McCloud’s have been strictly instructed to be on their best behaviour for George and Rosie’s christening.
Relationships: Michael Gray/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Nora + Michael [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1457320
Kudos: 2





	Weans

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, Nora's character was in early development so this is no longer canon. That said, I hope you enjoy as it's one of the first piece's I wrote for her.

“Godsake, it’s fucking cold up ‘ere innit?” John groans exiting the passenger seat of his brother’s car that had been pulled up adjacent to the church.

“John, please don’t use the lord’s name in vain.” Linda hummed, well, rather scolded also getting out holding Billy in her arms.

He couldn’t help but grumble at the woman though was met with a knowing look from Arthur; even he wanted to laugh. It’d been a long irritable and exhausting journey for all of them. Travelling down to London to catch the train up to Edinburgh then his brother insisting on driving the rest of the way which went down a fucking treat once getting stuck in the city centre traffic. Still, they were in a foreign land where getting jumped just by leaving the house wasn’t likely.

Digging around in his pocket he pulls out one of his remaining cigarettes, attempting to light it, the flame fighting the harsh breeze.

“John!”

“Jesus!” he cried, burning his finger with the match.

He turned to see both his sister in-law, wife and aunt narrowing their eyes at him, raising a brow in retaliation taking a brief drag. Polly swiftly rips the snout from his lips, tossing it onto the wet grass.

“Oi!”

“I’ll teach you to bloody, _Oi_ me. You heard what Tommy said, we don’t want another Lee situation on our hands, do we?”

“No.” he mumbled, kicking some gravel.

“Good, now straighten up,” she then scowled at Arthur who was leaning on the hood of the Bentley, “the pair of you.”

Surveying the small parish named St. Bernadette’s, it didn’t create the most welcoming atmosphere, or perhaps that was just a Shelby thing but blackened double doors and lack of colour pallet made today’s occasion feel more like a funeral than a christening.

“Thought Michael was done with the church shit, Pol.”

“He is, but Nora’s family are _persistent_ , so there wasn’t much of a choice,” she paused, “you don’t question religious allegiance up here boys; it’ll get you killed.”

John grimaced, they’d dealt with their fair-share of prejudice back home, but he’d heard the notorious whispers of violent, territorial gangs that would roam the streets causing riots based on their _godly_ views, usually channelling it through a football match. The McCloud family were previously active in the travelling community, as well asCatholic. _Must’ve been a delight for the locals._ Shelby’s themselves were Catholic, though he had a feeling his cousin’s extended family didn’t treat faith so loosely.

“I’m just hoping our Michael isn’t planning on any _more_ kids, like old John-boy ‘ere, can’t be bothered with that drive again.”

“We could’ve gotten the train Arthur.”

“-and pay those bloody prices?! I don’t think so.”

“ _Christ,_ you are your father’s son.” Polly muttered.

“More blasphemy, wonderful.”

* * *

“So, how ye plannin’ oan us _communicating_ wae that posh-lot o’ yurs.” Her father enquires, though it sounds increasingly cynical and the day hadn’t even begun.

“The same way we always dae,” the girl explains slipping on her heels then grabbing the keys from the bowl by the front-door. “Hivin’ a booze-up in The Taylor’s, prayin’ naebody phones the polis oan us. Again.”

“That’s ma lassie, talkin’ like a weegie,” He sounded rather chuffed. “-now that ye areny chasin’ yer man aboot.”

“Oh aye, ‘ve heard it aw before da; _ye can tak the wean oot ae Glesga but ye canny tak the Glesga oot the wean_.” she teases, naturally slipping into her mother-tongue, a strangely comforting action that unfortunately wasn’t an often occurrence in her own household, due to being heavily outnumbered by the rambunctious Brummies and their lack of interest engaging with phonetic dialect. Michael and Nora had already been through _many_ heated discussions on whether George and Rosie should be learning Scots as a considerable amount of the family spoke nothing but.

She’d managed to get Polly on her side, but he refused to listen. ‘ _She barely speaks it, nor need it. Why would the kids?_ ’ was his main point of defence but Nora was determined today, would prove him wrong that their children were as much Scottish, Romani, fucking Irish _if you wanted to go that far back_ as they were English. It’d already been pretty successful over the past seventy-two hours. The Englishman was cracking up; lost in a new, decrepit environment hearing strange vocabulary that he just wasn’t used to; she couldn’t lie, it was rather humours.

Michael wasn’t wrong, every day the redhead felt herself drifting further from the upbringing she so dearly missed. The days of waking to the sound of a deflated ball hitting against the bricks followed by muffled cheers from the younger boys living up the landing or the seven o’clock buzz when there’d be a chain of _‘gardyloo’_ warningsas she and her older siblings would run to the window, watching the human defecation splash on the concrete. Yes, it was cramped. Yes, it was dirty but there was a sense of community and unlike the rather luxurious bubble she now lived in; Nora as content being _one of them._

It was something the Shelby’s could _never_ understand.

Thomas Shelby claimed to be the man of the people, of the working-class populous and it was all a load of _shite_.

The Shelby’s didn’t live in poverty, never did and quite frankly, never would. Tommy clearly hadn’t woken up to the sound of someone shouting that they were about to throw a bucket of faeces out the kitchen window, or even seen some elderly woman toss a sandwich from the top-flat, never shared a bed with four other people for six-years, and hadn’t gone to sleep wondering if tuberculosis would finally steal your last breath because the tenement block was built too close to the others to properly breathe or just by a pair of mothers blethering about how _her wean got nits, aff Mrs. Morrison’s boy doonstairs and couldnae play wae him until it wis sorted._

So, this? This was home. Though, as far as the Shelby’s were concerned, it was were scum made their peace.

“An I wis right, wint ah? _Wee shite.”_

She smiles weakly at the endearing jab but spins to lightly dab at the rouge painted onto her plump lips in the mirror awaiting her sister bringing the children to them so they could all leave. There’s slight part of her that did want Michael by her side but with his cousins and mother newly arriving she couldn’t blame him for jumping with the chance to escape the damp, clatty flat.

 _“Jist,”_ Nora sighs, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, “jist be nice, they dinae mean any harm.”

“Ano, but I’m telling ye noo, if they start wae aw that _Pikey_ -patter-“

“Da!”

Colin ignored her protest, continuing on. “Ack, I heard enough ae that crap fae yer mammy an her faimlie, couldnae staun it.”

“Here we go…” Nora murmurs to herself.

“Aw fuckin’ gibberish tae me. Didnae dae her any favours livin’ in Parkheid, did it?”

Glancing at her father’s sudden drop in tone, she can’t help but notice the detest, yet guilt behind his eyes as he looks to the dusty floorboards.

“Every, single, wan ae those neighbours, wouldnae talk tae us fur _years_ because they heard yer mammy wis a gypsy. Thought she wis always gonnae nick somethin’ aff them,” he chuckled darkly, “as if they fuckin had ‘onything, we were efter, aw’us in the same boat; skint an jist wantin’ tae feed our wee-yins.”

His head hung low. “Shunned by the lot, no even a tin a beans on a birthday, nothin’.”

“Then Agnes telt the whole blumin’ street yer ma wis magic because she _fixed her sore tummy_.”

She snorts at the image of her older sister galivanting her mum’s _gift_ , which were obviously home remedies. “I mean…”

“That’s no funny hen, nearly got us aw killed.”

She took a sharp inhale.

Not remembering much about their time living in the one bedroom flat. Nora was only three when her mother convinced the family to regroup with the Taylor’s for a couple of years, until her father put a definitive foot-down, even so, from what information her siblings did relay, was pretty unpleasant.

Alec used to scare her with nightmarish stories – with varying degrees of accuracy but one had always just stuck, probably because she could vividly remember it; when one of the _Billy Boys_ invaded their home, searching for trouble.

“He knew whit he was daein. Broke yer mammy’s wrist, an skelped yer brother.” Colin clenched his jaw, “fuckin’ had tae slice the bloke in half.”

Nora felt her stomach sink, there was a desire to pry but she could sense an underlying pandora’s box that just wasn’t ready to be forced opened nor did she think, she was ready to hear it. Unnerving as it was, the girl couldn’t help but wonder, perhaps her father wasn’t ashamed? You could hear the adoration in his tone, feeling like a protector. He _loved_ Selina yet loathed her presence because unintentionally, she created a traitor among the community. Problem was, her own subconscious rearing its ugly head. _Did Michael feel the same?_

The twenty-year-old wasn’t oblivious, she could hear the somewhat brash behaviour hidden in Michael, expect her husband’s was significantly subdued, claiming it to be business related rather than anything personal, when she’d been gingerly forced to scurry out his office once the odd client appeared. _“You know they’re all a bit funny with your type, sweetheart.”_ He’d try reassuring, closing the door. She was confused as to whether he was trying to convince her or himself.

Then, Nora realised. She couldn’t let history repeat itself.

* * *

“Michael.” Tommy greeted, entering his cousin’s car, as Charlie babbled to himself in the backseats in Finn’s arms. “Quite a day you’ve chosen.”

The younger rolls his eyes at the sarcastic observation. It was downpouring and he could hear the raindrops pelting against the roof so the quicker he could start the car, the better. “Where’s Ada? Not coming from America?”

“Karl’s got the mumps, didn’t want to risk travelling far but she sends her good wishes Nora and the kids.”

“-and mum?”

Tom raises an eyebrow, lighting the cigarette whilst Michael starts to drive from the station. “With John and Arthur. Claimed it be fucking grand to drive down from the capital.”

“Let’s just hope it they’ve made it in one piece.” He mutters.

“A lot more colour, than what we’re used to.” He bitterly muses, taking a peek at the local pubs and shops they passed by, but most were decaying, and the streets appeared to be vacant.

“It’s a shithole Tommy, don’t think anyone’s bathed in months and the _sights_ you see. They’ve all gone looney.”

“Yeah, well you married one didn’t you.”

Michael rolled his tongue. “Tossed a pile of my own piss out a four-storey window, cleaned the kids in a dirty sink _and_ got woken up by two screaming pensioners arguing about who’s part of the washing-line it was.” He took a breath, “Nora wasn’t joking when she said their family were skint.”

“Scottish folk don’t exactly have an intellectual drive. Start wars over the same fucking god, regardless if he’s real or not.” He takes another drag before continuing. “Not to worry, you’ll be back down south after this is all over.”

“She wants to stay. Move into a bigger house and go back to work.”

“Not happening.”

“Try telling her that.”

“I fucking will.” He warned, “I ain’t losing my best accountant just because some _woman_ wants to deliver kids again.”

_“Tommy_.”

“-There’s nothing wrong Birmingham.”

“Nora’s got no work for her to go back to because of us.” Michael groans, he couldn’t spend another day trapped in this sewage-ridden poorland. He knew he sounded like an arrogant prick and Nora would surely tell him off but a least back home he could understand the people shouting at each-other across the roads.

“The courts will allow it; you’ve got blood on your hands; new law says she can take the two and never look back.”

“I don’t want us separated; it could make them targets.”

“Then tell ‘er to wind her fucking neck in.” he scolds, “I swear, Michael you let that one run amuck.”

“It’s not just Nora. Mum wants me to go, if it’ll keep me away from you.”

“After the ceremony I’ll deal with Pol, you just keep an eye on your missus.”

* * *

The small group push open the double doors, Nora goes first, noticing each Shelby pottered about the small room. George is the first to announce their presence when he rips from his mother’s hand.

“Nana!”

Everyone turns to look, as the redhead quickly runs after her son down the aisle to greet her family.

Polly places George on her hip and began giggling away.

“Oh, look at them all dolled-up, aren’t they cute?”

“Ack, we hid 'em lyin’ aboot since ma wee-yins were wee.” Edith commented, gently caressing her niece’s gummy cheek as she gargled in Nora’s arms, referring to the pearly-white outfits.

Polly eyed the woman, attempting to cling onto every word she spoke, having _some_ experience with her daughter in-law’s drunken speech. Though taking the passive route she simply nods along.

“Alec, Nora an me got christened in here tae." She smirked, pointing her head towards her younger sister, "though that wan had a right whinge, didn’t ye?”

“Aye, probably cause I hid tae listen to yer shite when Ma let you push the pram oan the way. ‘magine crashing a bairn intae a fence.”

Nora looked to Polly for input, she shows a sympathetic smile.

“You understood none of that, didn’t you?”

“Sorry love, I’m sure I’ll pick it up eventually.”

“Well, that’s still more than Michael.”

“Speaking of-“

“Picking up Tommy.”

“Of course, he bloody is.”

* * *

“Where the _fuck_ hiv you been?!” Nora exclaims taking the fag from her lips eyeing up the Shelby boys making their way round the large gate. “Ma Da’s ripping his hair out and John looks like he’s gonnae shite himself.”

They’d arrived to a rather relaxed welcome. Esme had already befriended Agnes quite quickly having already met when they were younger and John had gravitated towards Alec, until her brother opened his mouth and the blinder had little understanding of what he was saying. Polly, quickly taking Rosie from her and George began pottering around the parish with his toys allowing her to slip out into the bitter air and escape her dad’s complaints about Michael’s tardiness.

Finn quickly scurries in, Charlie in his arms.

“Calm it love, a’right.”

She scowls at the man taking off his flat cap, who teasingly smiles at her though it seemed significantly more sinister than it appeared. Nora looks to her husband hearing the heavy doors shut behind.

The couple look to one-another, knowing they should be on their way in too.

“Hey, stranger.”

The redhead giggles before slipping into Michael’s warm hold, inhaling the comforting sent of tobacco and a hint of ginger, resting her head on his shoulder and he gave her a quick peck.

“It’s pure Baltic.”

“Nonie.”

“ _Fuck off_ ,” she playfully whines, “it’s freezing, and you’ve got a jacket and all I’ve got it _this_.”

The crushed velvet dress was nothing compared to his usual cosy trench-coat.

“Tommy’s on edge.”

“When isn’t he? Crabbit bastard.”

“He wants us to stay in Birm-“

“Michael.” She sighs.

“Look. just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

“ _I have._ I lost you once, next time it could be for real.” She pauses peering up at him. “Not like he wants to see his bloody god-weans for christ-sake. Have you even told your mum?”

He ignores the enquiry because he clearly hadn’t. “Nora, you know my job is _important,_ so can we just not push this right now?”

“Is your job more important than us, and our well-being.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?”

Nora raised a brow after seeing his jaw tighten. “Seriously Michael, you haven’t shown so much as one ounce of interest since we’ve been here. I don’t get home often so the least you could do is show a bit of respect.”

“Are you fucking joking?”

“Eh naw, am no.” She deadpanned. 

“I’m doing all this shit for you, aren’t I? You think I fucking want my kids anywhere near that shit-hole, or any church for that matter. I’ve gone two weeks of listening to absolute nonsense _for you.”_

“You’re an arse, d’yknow that.”

“-and yet you married me sweetheart.”

She scoffs, “I don’t remember marrying Tommy Shelby’s lapdog.”

She stares him down before getting back on topic. “So, what Michael? They’re christened. Big-fucking-whoop, who says we have to go back? This is fur ma da. No, me. But unlike _the hoose of god or whatever pish_. This is their home just as much as Birmingham is and yet you can’t accept that, which is what _I_ want.”

He remains silent, but Nora can see him gritting his teeth.

“I want our kids to know that there _is_ a life outside the fucking Blinders. T-to not be ashamed because of who they are and what they’ve came from. I don’t want them to grow up the same way I did, to look at their family and be so humiliated by it and _you_ certainly aren’t fucking helping.” She huffs spinning on her heel, crossing her arms and storms back into the building blinking to stop any tears from forming.


End file.
